


The Ride Worthwhile

by farawayfiction (JJ_Thomas)



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-05-13 06:29:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 89
Words: 18,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5698417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJ_Thomas/pseuds/farawayfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A variety of unrelated short stories and drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Direct

Collins had his own unique way of addressing the issue. Steaming cups of tea had arrived regularly at Robinson’s desk throughout the day. On several occasions, the Constable had mentioned how unusually light the case load seemed. Twice, he had closed the Detective Inspector’s door on his way out, providing a barrier to telephone calls and foot traffic. Despite all this, he could hear the cough grow undeniably worse. Still, he hesitated to make the suggestion outright, thinking he’d overstep his authority.

Then Miss Fisher arrived in a whirlwind and took one glance at him. “You look terrible, Jack! Go home.”

(OneWord prompt: Direct.)


	2. Fed

She had her own approach. One spoonful at a time, while he reclined pajama clad in his bed. Between bouts of coughing that left him painfully contorted. Phryne Fisher skipped the tea and went straight to broth, insisting he consume every last sip. At first, he’d put up a noble fight. The opposition was short lived however as his own body testified against him. The glare she fixed upon him in response left no room for argument.

In the privacy of his own home, away from prying eyes, she took great care in feeding him. In more ways than one.

(OneWord prompt: Fed. This was meant as a companion piece to “Direct” but it can certainly stand alone.)


	3. Rocket

“And where were _you_ that night?” Detective Inspector Jack Robinson asked, his notebook out and ready.

Rage flared in the mechanic’s eyes. He clutched the wrench still in his left hand, knuckles turning white. “I didn’t kill my wife!”

Phryne took an instinctual step back.

“Answer the question, Mr. Marsh.”

The barely contained fury exploded and in one swift movement, he violently swung the tool toward the policeman’s head. Jack threw his arm up to deflect the blow. The weapon missed its mark but the impact was enough to drive the Inspector to his knees. Blackness threatened to close in and seemingly from afar, he heard his companion desperately yell his name.

A second later, Marsh was staring down the barrel of Phryne’s revolver, the wrench lifted high as if to strike another blow. “Put it down,” she ordered.

He hesitated. The anger was beginning to dissipate and fear now crept to his ruddy face.

“I have no qualms about putting a bullet through your head,” she stated, forcing the words to come out calmly and authoritatively.

The clatter of metal on the pavement coincided with the running arrival of Constable Collins. Her eyes darting from Jack to Marsh, she kept her aim true until their suspect was restrained.

“Sir-”

“Jack-”

They both started and stopped simultaneously, both clearly concerned. Phryne knelt down beside him, reaching tentatively for his injured arm.

“Take him, Collins.” The directive was delivered in a less than steady voice. It matched his posture. Fearing any sudden moves would land him flat on his back, he remained where he’d fallen, his head hung low to hide his pained expression.

Hugh delayed his departure, glancing at Phryne with an anxious look. It was a feeling she understood all too well. “Go. I’ll take care of him,” she promised hastily, eager to separate Jack from his attacker. Too consumed with managing his own agony, Jack neither heard nor commented.

Collins dragged Marsh off kicking and screaming.

“He may not have killed his wife but at least we know where the bruises came from,” Phryne spat out, leaning in take a closer look at the arm Jack cradled protectively. “Jack-”

“A moment,” he mumbled, his breathing coming in short spurts. “Just… give me a moment.”

She melted in the wake of his suffering. Based on what she saw, it would take him more than just a moment. Slowly and with expert care, she began to push up the sleeve of his overcoat. The black ring around his vision that had begun to recede began again to encroach. “Phryne-”

The warning made her freeze. She had no desire to cause him any unnecessary pain. “Broken?”

“Without a doubt,” he managed.

“Lets get you to the car.”

Ascending felt like falling. His head swam mercilessly.

“Slowly.”

Her hands were upon him, guiding and supporting. He nearly toppled. Had it not been for her quick counterbalancing, he surely would have.

“That’s it. You’re doing fine,” she encouraged, keeping her wits.

Phryne let him set the pace on their trek back to the Hispano-Suiza. She resisted every urge to hurry him along. The sooner they reached the car, the sooner she could rush him to hospital. With the passenger side door finally reached, he paused, exhausted by just the short distance traversed. “Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“I’m already broken. Don’t kill me en route.”

Even though he looked utterly miserable, she couldn’t help but smile. “I promise. But just this once.”

(OneWord prompt: Rocket)


	4. Pumpkin

He eyed her plate with veiled interest.

“Pie, Jack?”

“I couldn’t possibly deprive you,” he replied demurely.

“Nonsense!”

His gaze shifted to her eyes, to the twinkle that shined brightly. Teasing him delighted her so.

“It _is_ the last piece after all,” she pointed out, moving closer to him.

Still, he didn’t take the bait.

“Pumpkin with spice, if I’m not mistaken.” She picked up the fork, balanced on the edge thus far.

He could smell it now, the plate practically under his nose. “I’m surprised you haven’t tried it yet.”

She smiled affectionately. “The first bite belongs to you.”

(OneWord prompt: Pumpkin. A Thanksgiving “leftover”.)


	5. Welcoming

“Why haven’t you ever invited me to your home?” Her question was quiet, with an air of seriousness that lacked any trace of recrimination.

Jack’s fingers fell away from the piano keys, the soft song coming to a premature end. An uncomfortable silence hung between them as they sat shoulder to shoulder. He swallowed hard, trying to find an answer to her question. Not only for her but for himself.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked,” she apologized sincerely, acutely aware of the awkwardness she’d caused. She started to slide away.

“No,” he blurted out, reaching for her hand. “Please.”

She settled again beside him and with patience worthy of a saint, waited.

At first his gaze remained steadfastly downcast as he pondered the reason. Then they naturally drifted upward. To the piano. To the plants. To the distinctive wallpaper that ran throughout the many rooms. In the background, he could hear the indistinct sounds of others moving about. It occurred to him in that very moment that he was comfortable in his surroundings. He was no longer a guest but not entirely a resident.

“It’s just a place to lay my head,” he finally replied. “ _You_ are my home.”

(OneWord prompt: Welcoming.)


	6. Music

Like notes on a piano, she plays his name. Sultry, seductive, and passionate. Sad, remorseful, and repentant. Ecstatic! Elated! Charged with innuendo! Playful. Suggestive. Surprised. So full of wonder, awe, and admiration. From one end of the spectrum to the other, she whispers, shouts, mutters, beckons and emphatically states.

He listens attentively with a ear attuned to her every tone and inflection. Better than Bach, Beethoven, or Mozart, her voice is classical. Timeless. Her music lifts him to unimaginable heights.

She knows not just how it moves him, how it brings him back, how it settles his heart.

“Oh Jack.”

(OneWord prompt: Exchange.)


	7. By The Seaside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Whenever Phryne says “Jack and Jane”, my brain always goes to the nursery rhyme “Jack and Jill”. So I rewrote it. Then it became “By The Seaside”.)
> 
> _Jack and Jane went down the hill_
> 
> _To play in a puddle of water._
> 
> _Jack fell down and broke his crown_
> 
> _And Jane went to his rescue._

Someone was crying. It was Jack’s first conscious thought. Fear had reduced it to a whimper, the sound nearly drowned out by the crashing of waves. An additional series of realizations hit him. Gentle but firm pressure was being applied to his head. Blood rushing in the wrong direction gave him the nauseating impression of being upside down. The wind blowing across his exposed limbs was unexpectedly cold. The last conversation he could remember had taken place in the guesthouse parlor, the scent of Miss Fisher’s perfume as pleasing as their light banter.

He cracked his eyelids and instantly regretted the decision. The light headache erupted into full blown hammering. A figure leaned over him, blocking out most of the overhead sun and creating a blackened silhouette.

“Phryne?” Her name was no more than a whisper on his lips.

“She’s not here. Oh I really wish she were.” The voice was thick with concern and anxiety.

Jack placed it immediately. They’d set out earlier to enjoy the seashore, painstakingly making their way down the hillside. “Jane.”

“You fell. The rocks were-“

A hand curled tightly around his. He gave it a weak but reassuring squeeze. A feeble attempt to rise told him he wouldn’t be hiking out on his own power. The action seemed to renew Jane’s tears.

“Go for help,” he urged.

“I can’t leave you here!”

He swallowed hard, knowing there was little alternative. The day was drawing to an end, bringing with it colder temperatures. Reaching up tentatively, he slipped his fingers over hers, replacing the pressure she so steadfastly maintained. She was now free to withdraw. “I promise not to go anywhere.”

She hesitated, unsure.

“Please, Jane.”

The request spurred her into sudden action. She dashed away, resolute.

He sighed with relief. She’d soon be safe.


	8. Marked

It was Jack’s habit to hang back. He felt more comfortable observing her parties rather than actively participating. Phryne seemed to understand, for which he was eternally grateful. At some point during the evening, their gazes would lock meaningfully. Shortly after, he would disappear.

She knew just where to find him after the guests had departed. Never one to leave without first saying goodbye, he contentedly entertained himself at the piano. A certain distinct pleasure was taken in being the last to enjoy her company, heightened by the promise of privacy.

The sweet, lazy notes of an old love song greeted her. She paused at the door, his only audience. His ever serious expression gave way to the slightest of smiles, his languid playing uninterrupted. Phryne grinned. Knowing now she wouldn’t disturb him, she joined Jack on the bench. The words eluded her but that in no way detracted from the mood. The music came to an end and Jack glanced sidelong.

“I haven’t heard that one in a _long_ time,” she teased.

“I haven’t _played_ that one in a long time.”

He didn’t seem inclined to begin another round. The hour was approaching midnight and to Phryne, he looked exceptionally tired. The festivities had lasted longer than expected. “Can I tempt you with a nightcap?”

He momentarily considered it. “Perhaps another night,” he sadly replied. “It’s late.”

The phrase typically marked the beginning of his own departure. The thought of returning to his own dark abode did nothing to hasten his farewell. He lingered at the instrument.

“You needn’t rest your head in an empty house,” she whispered, eyeing him sympathetically. She rose, placed a hand on his shoulder, and drew it sensually down the length of his arm. Her fingers gently hooked his.

“Time to come home, Jack.”

(OneWord prompt: Marked. Reference to “Welcoming” but can stand alone.)


	9. By Her Side

A nurse stopped them at the front desk. “Can I help you?”

Jack took off his hat. “We’re here to see Anna Ross.”

“And you are?”

He motioned to his traveling companion. “This is Jane Ross, her daughter. And I’m Detective Inspector Jack Robinson.”

She slid a book across the counter. “Sign in please and I’ll see where Ms. Ross has gotten off to.”

Jack did as requested while Jane looked around nervously. She was happy her mother was being properly cared for, that the facility seemed clean and the people friendly. Regardless, the environment unnerved her.

“Do you think she’ll recognize me?” An anxious knot had formed in her stomach. She fought the unreasonable inclination to flee.

“She always does,” he reassured her calmly.

“It’s been almost a year.”

He smiled. “And she’ll still recognize you in ten. It’s an uncanny skill only parents possess.”

She _wanted_ to see her mother. Truly. “Why is this so hard?”

The smile faded. It pained him to see her so conflicted. “That’s not something I can answer, Jane. You don’t have to see her if you don’t want to,” he reminded her.

“I do! Just- Come with me?”

“I’d be happy to.”

(Prompted by a rewatch of “Queen Of The Flowers”.)


	10. Attic

Incarceration didn’t negate the promise. It only strengthened his resolve to follow through, fueled his desire for retribution. Even from within the prison, he had access to a network of resources. He utilized them to exact his revenge.

From an attic window, a sniper watched them through the cross hairs. It was a clear, warm night. The shot would be clean. Her death would be swift. He watched them enjoy their dinner, sip their wine, and carry on a subdued conversation. It would tragically be their last evening together.

The rope snapped.

The rifle fired.

Roberto Salvatore smiled before dying.

(Prompt: Attic. References to the episode “Murder and Mozzarella”.)


	11. Sweltering

He’d stripped down to his undershirt but it had made little difference. No amount of layers shed could stop Jack from sweating profusely. The heat in the engine room was stifling. The hatches to the enclosed compartment were secured from the outside. Based on temperature and noise, he surmised they were underway. There was no telling how long he’d been unconscious or how far the ship had sailed in that time.

With his head pounding and dizziness threatening, he weighed his options. If he couldn’t escape, perhaps he could force someone to step in.

Jack turned with intent to sabotage.

(Prompt: Sweltering.)


	12. Never

The sound that reached her ears and the happiness of his expression were nothing short of magical. Phryne drowned in the moment, her own merriment matching his. It was easy to fall in love with him, many times over.

“Oh Jack,” she sighed in ecstasy, placing both hands to the lapels of his tuxedo. “You’ve never laughed like that before.”

His smile was still brilliant as his gaze met hers. He encircled a hand about her waist, gently pulling her closer.

“You have lines. Here,” she stated, indicating the areas beside his eyes. “I want to see them all again.”

(Prompt: Never. Inspired by a photo of the main characters.)


	13. Golden

The Mark Antony costume resurfaced three years later. When Phryne slipped into the room, Jack had just finished dressing, the golden helmet resting on the bed.

She grinned, surveying his attire from head to toe. “I seem to have brought the wrong costume,” she declared, no hint of real disappointment in her voice.

“Not at all. You look stunning,” he replied earnestly.

She sashayed up to him, eyeing him seductively. A finger strayed to a stud on his ‘armor’. “We never _did_ have our gaudy night, did we?”

His chin tilted one way, his head the other. An intense gaze bore into her. “I didn’t _want_ just one gaudy night,” he confessed. “I wanted that night and _every_ night that came after.” 

She placed a second hand to his chest and stepped toward him, eager to close the gap between them.

“Care to pilfer my sword, Miss Fisher?”

(Prompt: Golden.)


	14. Fringe

“The Inspector, Miss.”

Mr. Butler smiled knowingly before retreating. Jack ventured into the parlor a moment later, a garment bag slung over an arm.

“Jack! You found it! How wonderful!” Phryne launched herself from the chair.

“Not exactly,” he regretted to inform her. “I did find it but I’m afraid I had to take it into evidence.”

She deflated. It was unlikely she’d see the coat again any time soon. “It was one of my favorites,” she mused.

“Yes, Ms. Williams mentioned that earlier.”

Phryne eyed his armful, remorseful yet curious. “If that isn’t my coat, what’s in the bag?”

“An apology.” The reply was humble and sincere.

“Oh Jack. It wasn’t your fault,” she quickly countered.

“Regardless, I feel at least partially responsible.”

He unfolded the bag and hung it high enough to avoid the ground. His silence was an invitation to proceed. Phryne unzipped it and gasped in delight. A new coat was nestled inside. It was every bit as luxurious as the old. She ran her fingers along the collar then down the length of a sleeve. The material was softer than the previous, the color more vibrant.

“Inspector,” she teased. “You really should apologize more often.”

(Prompt: Fringe.)


	15. Wealthy

“You asked me to come after you but then hardly gave me enough time to follow through,” Jack declared.

“Truth is, I couldn’t get out of England fast enough.” The loathing in her voice was evident.

“Not eager to spend quality time with your parents?”

The question carried an undertone of amusement but Phryne answered seriously. “Their reunion was less than idyllic.”

He dipped his head in understanding. There was obviously more to the story but Jack didn’t press her for further details.

“Besides,” she added, perking up, “I had so many wonderful reasons to come home.”

He affectionately smiled.

“Jane.”

“Of course,” he agreed.

“Dot and Hugh. Aunt Prudence. Mac. Oh! And how could I possibly forget-” She reached out to smooth his tie. “Mr. Butler and our red raggers.”

His smile only intensified.

“There’s also this ‘rather civilized Detective’ I’ve met,” she stated, taking a step closer, her hand still occupied with the royal blue silk. “He doesn’t seem terribly impressed. I also have this horrendous ability to cause him nothing but grief. It’s entirely possible he may not want to see me again.”

“I’m sure he finds you quite infuriating,” Jack confirmed, his voice husky with desire.

(OneWord prompt: Wealth.)


	16. Sublime

The Inspector listened carefully to Doctor Macmillan’s entire report before seeking clarification. “Sublimation then-”

“Decomposition actually. I haven’t had the opportunity to test the ‘salt’ yet but my guess would be ammonium chloride. Given sufficient heat, it breaks down into ammonia and hydrogen chloride gases.”

Phryne gazed intently at the victim’s nostrils. “That would explain the inflammation within the nose.”

“And the edema. Which lead to the hypoxia and ultimately the heart failure,” Mac explained.

“It seems like a rather complicated way to commit murder.” Jack reached out to accept the file.

“It means time of death will be useless.”

(OneWord prompt: Sublime. A/N: I’m not a chemist by any stretch of the imagination. Any mistakes in science are entirely mine.)


	17. Replique

The second encounter was nothing like the first. Bordering on bashful and mindful of blushing, he’d respectfully retreated, calling on duty to save his dignity. Now, after all this time, he was finally alone with her. Intimate. Unrestrained. His eyes roamed her body unashamed, took in every curve. He marveled at every detail. Unadulterated admiration and appreciation transformed his expression.

Phryne observed the two of them in secret. The partially cracked door gave her a perfect view of Jack from the side. How magnificently open he appeared, how at peace he seemed. The pain of guilt arose in her chest. She couldn’t give him what she knew he wanted. The thought of interrupting them though felt somehow cruel. Bowing her head, she turned and quietly withdrew.

The whole affair troubled her for days and unceasingly she pondered it in her heart. Inspiration came suddenly and with it, a renewed sense of hope. Preparations began in earnest.

Cec and Bert tracked down the chez lounge. Dot found a beautiful robe of pale blue. The brown throw was pilfered from the top of her bed. Mr. Butler arranged the fruit. The invitation was sent. A late but private dinner.

Mr. Anatole met Jack at the door to Cafe Replique, his smile beaming. “Ah Monsieur! Come in! S’il vous plaît.”

Jack stepped into the empty restaurant. All the tables had been cleared and there was no sign of Phryne. He twisted his hat in his hands, confused. “I’m sorry. I was to meet-”

“Oui! She is here.” He gestured to a folding screen that had been erected toward the back.

He took a step in the right direction before Anatole’s hand at his arm gave him reason to pause.

“She has created something tres special. Just for you.”

There was something veiled in the heavily accented comment. Jack puzzled over it. A possible warning, he considered. Mixed with a threat. It unsettled him. Anatole’s hand slid away and Jack resumed his journey to the rear, more confused than before.

“Phryne?” He rounded the screen, not knowing what to expect.

Jack stopped dead in his tracks, stunned.

Her neck was arched, her body sumptuous. An arm rested up and beneath her head. Bare breasts lead to pubic hair and long legs. A robe was crumpled beside her, nestled in the fur.

The _Woman with Peignoir_ lay before him.

An exact replica.

Jack was speechless.

(Prompt: Speechless. My French is rusty. Please forgive me if I've butchered any words.)


	18. It Was The War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (OneWord Prompt: Walled. A/N: I don’t normally place my notes first but I thought in this instance it was appropriate. This story contains depictions of PTSD. I don’t know first hand how PTSD feels. Nor have I ever been a soldier. No disrespect is ever intended. The descriptions used here are based off of my own observations. My brother-in-law went to war but came home with his fair share of scars.)

The first time it happened Jack was seated in a restaurant with Rosie. He was home. She was here. With him. The war was over. Life was beginning to take on a renewed meaning. Then the clatter of silverware drowned out her voice. Her words were lost in the indistinct murmuring of idle chatter. It morphed into a droning tidal wave of inundation. The room began to shrink. Color drained from his face as he drew in an unsteady breath. There was no dignity in his retreat. He shoved his chair back and nearly ran for the door, capturing the glances of many patrons as he did so. There was no warning or explanation.

Stunned, Rosie found herself alone at the table. She lifted her chin and gazed about the room defiantly. Those who had paused to stare abruptly resumed their meals. She finished her own, determined to maintain propriety.

When she went to bed that night, he didn’t follow.

The final time it happened, a decade had come and gone. Phryne sat across from him, her laughter intoxicating. Then a waiter dropped a tray and all the dishes atop shattered as they hit the ground. Something so simple, innocuous. The reaction he hadn’t experienced in years swept over him. He was suddenly desperate to escape.

She witnessed the sudden transformation. “Jack?”

The retired soldier fought his own fight or flight instincts.

Understanding washed over her. “Go,” she insisted. “It doesn’t matter what they think. Do what you need to do.”

He did just that.

Phryne, unlike Rosie, left her unfinished meal behind. She found him leaning against the car, his jaw clenched and his eyes closed. She didn’t touch or talk to him until he was ready.

Two women. Two totally different reactions. Jack was grateful for them both.


	19. Contagious

The first game of their second set was interrupted by darkened clouds. Together they made a hasty beeline for the veranda as the initial drops fell. A few seconds after taking cover, the skies opened and a torrential downpour deluged the property.

Jack deposited his racket on the bench and sat down, looking out into the yard. “Well, it looks like our court is done for the day. At least we didn’t get drenched.”

He glanced up at Phryne. On her face formed a smile that he’d come to recognize. A mischievous idea was blossoming in her brain. She tossed her racket down on top of his and grabbed his hand. With a tug, he was on his feet again. Mirth overcame her as she pulled him toward the steps.

“Phryne, what are you-”

“We’re going to _frolic_ , Jack!” Just saying the word itself seemed to bring her joy.

In no time at all, they were both soaked to the bone. Jack frowned, his clothes plastered to his body, hair soggy on his forehead. Phryne, on the other hand, threw up her arms and twirled in place. She tipped her head back, welcoming the rain, and laughed with glee and abandonment.

He was captivated. How much like a child she seemed, having sloughed off the cares of the world. She turned and turned until she was too dizzy to turn any longer.

Jack’s frown had disappeared. In its place was a smile that lifted his cheeks and touched his eyes.

(Prompt: Contagious.)


	20. Peanuts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Prompt: Rosary. Working with 1st person.)

Patrick Boyle went missing on a Thursday. Word was he went to ground somewhere near his Aunt’s house up on the Hill. A dog caught wind of him five days later. We found his body face down at the bottom of an empty swimming pool alongside a house that had seen better days. His head had been bashed in from behind. A pile of leaves had been thrown in on top of him. An afterthought? Enough to partially conceal but not completely obscure. No one had paid him any mind while he was alive. The trend seemed to have carried over into death. The knees of his trousers were torn and the skin on his palms shredded. Had he fallen as he fled? Had he known he was in danger?

I reached into his pockets and discovered what I expected to find. A handful of peanuts in one. A rosary in the other. Patrick Boyle officially made three. Three Catholic boys between the ages of twelve and fourteen killed over a space of two weeks. Little connection appeared evident beyond the religious.

“Collins! Find out who owns this house.”

I rose, remorseful. The duty of informing his family lay ahead.


	21. The Dragon

An oriental dragon had taken up residence on her mantelpiece. Smoke wafted up an unfamiliar yet earthy fragrance from a single incense stick that lay the length of its back. Jack watched, intrigued, from just inside the entrance to the parlor. Phryne regarded it with a far off expression.

“Planning on burning down the house?” The teasing was gentle, without the least bit of bite.

“It’s a wedding present,” she explained, full of melancholy.

He furrowed his brow. A thousand unpleasant prospects hit him all at once. Then his heart took a sudden dive. Dumbfounded he asked, “Am I to understand that congratulations are in order?”

A sweet yet amused smile brightened her face. “They are. For Lin and Camellia. They were married four days ago.”

He breathed an imperceptible sigh of relief. “It’s customary for the bride and groom to receive presents on the happy occasion. Not the other way around.”

“But you and I both know there’s nothing customary about Lin and Camellia.”

Jack found he couldn’t argue. “What is it exactly?”

It was an incense clock. Instead she replied, “A reminder. That time is precious.”

He reflected upon her chosen answer. “Care to join me for dinner?”

(Prompt: Earthy.)


	22. The Language of Love

“I don’t understand half of what it’s trying to say,” Jane complained with a barely concealed pout. Reading the book thus far had been nothing but an act of frustration.

“Look at the way the dialog is broken into pieces by character,” Jack explained. “It’s a play, meant to be read aloud, acted out on a stage in front of an audience. Body language and voice inflection help tell the story.”

“How is that going to help me? I don’t have a stage. Or actors to read the lines.” Her frustration was beginning to turn to anger.

Jack paused to carefully consider his next words. He wanted to help, not hinder. To install a love of his favorite literature, not encourage her budding hatred. “I’d be happy to take Ferdinand if you’ll take Miranda.”

“ _We_ should act it out?”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

She seemed hesitant.

“I’ll start,” he encouraged. He picked up the book, turned to her bookmark, and began to read from Act III. “‘Hear my soul speak: The very-‘”

A feather light touch found his shoulder. The words were momentarily forgotten as he glanced up and into Phryne’s seductive smile. His throat suddenly dry, he swallowed and sought the lines from memory.

“‘The very instant that I saw you-‘”

She trailed her hand across his shoulder blade, curled it around his neck and rounded the chair. Jane watched with open interest.

“‘Did my heart fly to your service.'”

Phryne lowered herself into his lap, their eyes never straying.

“That was easy to understand!” Jane bubbled with excitement.

Neither of the entangled adults seemed to notice.

“‘Do you love me?'”

So captivated by her nearness was Jack that he quoted out of turn. “‘I beyond all limit of what else i’ the world do love, prize, honour you.'”

(Prompt: Literature. The play in reference is Shakespeare’s “The Tempest”.)


	23. Twilight

“That’s a lovely scarf, Dot.”

The weak declaration caused her to glance up with surprise. Placing her needlework aside, she smiled and reached out to take hold of Phryne’s hand.

“Thank you,” Dot replied sincerely, even though she’d heard the same compliment twice before in the same day. “You gave it to me. It’s still my favorite.”

Phryne’s gaze fixated on it then her stare eventually grew vacant.

Dot steeled herself for the question that always came.

“Have you seen Jack?”

She plastered a smile on her face, bringing to it as much joy as she could muster. “The Inspector is working on a case, Miss. I’m sure he’ll be along shortly.”

Phryne’s reaction was without variation. Love and affection lifted her spirits and in that moment, she was young again. In a different place. When Jack was still beside her. Singing. Laughing. Dinning. Sleuthing. Bringing justice to the deprived. Solving the mystery titled life. For nearly half a century, they’d waltzed. United but never married. It mattered not to her heart. Her memory made no such distinction.

Dot prayed the Lord would forgive her the repetitive lie. Having passed years previously, Jack surely waited but would never be along.

(Prompt: Twilight.)


	24. Broken

Wind rustled the willows. The chattering mixed with the rushing of the nearby river. Rays of sunshine lit the somber occasion. They were both still pale as they stood together, observing the morbid deed. Hoping and dreading simultaneously.

Hands on the shovel paused. A hesitant glance was cast in their direction, confirmation and condolences wrapped in one. With a simple gesture, Jack signaled to the digger. For the moment, the young man’s work was done. He climbed from the hole, moving away.

So very long she’d gone without knowing. Now she faced the undeniable and heartbreaking conclusion. Finality. No chance of refutation. The world without Janie. Phryne knew she had to see for herself but couldn’t bring her own feet to move her forward. Jack gently placed his hand on her back. His silent encouragement was enough. From deep within, she summoned the courage. A few short steps carried her through a childhood of memories, of giggles, misadventures, and opportunistic joy plucked from dark and dreary circumstances.

Jack observed her progress with a heavy and sympathetic heart. Abandoning his previous position, he slowly and respectfully circled the mound. He chose a new position, as close to her as possible without being intrusive.

Phryne lowered herself next to the excavated grave and allowed her tearful eyes to fall.

Janie’s skull stared back at her through empty sockets.

The dam inside her burst. The moments that never were and would never be. An unending love. Her sister, forever stolen. How desperately unfair and cruel. Loneliness struck a crippling blow. Phryne reached out for Jack just as he reached out to her. Each clung tightly to a wrist, mutually supportive.

He’d seen her angry, energized, determined, and even spiteful. He knew even as he held her crying, he would never see her broken.

(Prompt: Taut. In reference to “King Memses’ Curse”.)


	25. Flee

Years of secrets and misunderstandings fueled the fire. Accusations and half formed apologies. The shouting matches were preferable to the uncomfortable eggshells. At least then Phryne knew progress was possible. She had no illusions. It would get worse before it got better. If it ever got better. For nights on end, she fought to isolate herself from the house that was burning down around her. It was a losing battle. Her frustration only mounted.

“Phryne? Where are you going?!” Their paths crossed on her way out the door, her luggage in tow.

“Home, father. To the love of _my_ life.”

(OneWord Prompt: Flee.)


	26. Our Empty Nest

Jack poured himself another whiskey.

“Celebrating or mourning?” Phryne sat down next to him quietly, clad in her oriental evening robe. Her own expression held a hint of sadness.

“Reeling.”

His response brought an understanding smile to her face. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.” He poured and handed her an additional glass.

She lifted it up to toast. “To our dear, sweet Jane.”

“To Jane,” he echoed.

“Why are we treating her graduation like a funeral? Shouldn’t we be happy for her? She’s turned into quite a young lady.”

“She has. How did it happen so quickly?”

(OneWord prompt: Graduation.)


	27. Conniving

“Plotting, conniving, irritating,” she fumed, storming into his office.

“I prefer to focus on your more positive qualities,” Jack teased lightheartedly.

“He wants to come for another visit.” She paced back and forth in front of his desk, a bundle of angry energy.

He knew immediately to whom she referred. “Did the Baron give any specific reason?”

She laughed but it held no humor. “‘To visit his lovely daughter.'”

“She is quite lovely. But I sincerely doubt that’s his real motivation.”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll involve trouble.”

“Tell him your guest room is already occupied.” He smiled, self-satisfied.

(Prompt: Conniving.)


	28. In The Know

Phryne observed them from across the parlor through a sea of music, dancing, and drinks. Dot tugged on Hugh’s arm, smiling sweetly. He half turned, lending her an ear but distracted by the festivities. She stretched up on her toes, whispering. He went suddenly still, then his eyes grew wide and his mouth fell open in surprise. The party ceased to exist. She had his full and undivided attention as he swiveled to face her. His eyes lit up and he asked her a question Phryne couldn’t hear. A quick nod from Dot was her only response. Then Hugh wrapped her up in an exuberant hug, swirling her around. He pulled away abruptly, looking down between them. They both beamed.

Mac was also watching the married couple. Behind a glass of whiskey, she tried to hide her own smile. Phryne sidestepped into her friend’s personal space.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked insistently.

“It wasn’t my place,” the doctor explained frankly. “Besides… _you’re_ the detective. I knew you’d figure it out.”

Jack joined the two ladies. “When do you think they’ll make their announcement?”

“Am I really the last to know?”

Mac grinned. “There’s a first time for everything.”

(Prompt: Presents.)


	29. Freckles

Blood speckled the wall like freckles adorning skin of the palest complexion. Jack examined it intently, attempting to judge the originating point. Aside from the chair laying on its side in the dinning room, little else seemed amiss.

“Sir,” Collins called from the kitchen, hoping to draw the Inspector’s attention. He gestured to the floor. Partially obscured by a cabinet sat a revolver.

The two locked gazes before Jack reached into his pocket for his handkerchief. Picking up the gun, he methodically checked it over. There were two empty casings in the cylinder.

The location was distinctly lacking in one regard.

“We appear to have a crime scene but no victim,” Jack commented.

“The milkman reported it,” Collins offered. “The owners have been away on holiday. They were supposed to have returned yesterday.”

“The blood is dry. It could have happened while they were away. What are their names?”

He consulted his notes. “A… Mr. and Mrs. Kingsbury. The beds upstairs haven’t been slept in and there’s not sign of luggage. It doesn’t appear they’ve made it back yet.”

Jack considered the evidence before issuing orders. “Speak with the neighbors. I’ll see if I can’t track down our wayward travelers.”

(Prompt: Freckles.)


	30. Stagnate

The whiskey helped. Jack drank until there was nothing left in the bottle. The absurd idea of getting up to go in search of another crossed his mind but never completely coalesced. It fled, like all the other thoughts and emotions he dared not entertain or feel. Droopy eyelids threatened to close over endlessly vacant eyes. No point of focus held his attention. No spark of life emanated from his overtaxed body. What he needed couldn’t be found at the bottom of a glass. Rest and forgiveness couldn’t be poured like a drink. Purchasing a drowning sea was easier than coming up for air.

Guilt lay at the foundation of his despair. Sleep brought painful memories into excruciating clarity and renewed his unjustified self-loathing. He’d cast himself in the role of the villain in a story that had none. Circumstance and fate had colluded against him. Now she was gone. The sound of her screams would stay with him until his very last breath. The sight of her broken body would haunt him.

“Jack.”

His name whispered angrily in his ear tore him from stagnation. It was Phryne.

“I’ve already lost Jane. I’ll be damned if I lose you too.”

(OneWord promp: Stagnate.)


	31. Amongst Friends

Cec met him outside at the taxi as Bert took the last drag on his cigarette. He threw it down and ground it into the pavement. From the curb, he could see lights on in the house and hear the sound of women inside laughing.

“Thought maybe you weren’t coming,” Cec said. “The ham’s coming out in few.”

Bert didn’t take his gaze from the window. “Who’s in there with Alice?”

“Marianna,” he replied. “She just moved in down the street. A couple weeks back.”

“Don’t see no husband,” Bert commented, his eyes still searching.

“Lost in the war.”

His chin dropped and a solemn silence came over him. Good memories and bad lingered between them.

Cec put on a smile. “It’s Christmas. We didn’t want her to be alone.”

It was their wish for Bert as well and he knew it. “Wouldn’t be right,” he agreed, his nervousness easing.

Slapping him on the back, they started walking toward the front door together. A warm, bright space greeted them. The ladies weren’t too far behind. Alice introduced a woman with a pleasant smile and a strong, firm handshake. The old warhorse liked her immediately.

“Name’s Bert. Pleased to meet ya.”


	32. Innocently

It started off innocently enough. In Aunt Prudence’s parlor, they shared an ample love seat as a boisterous fundraiser swirled about them. Phryne inched a short distance closer. Jack cleared his throat. A mischievous smile grew on her lips. She scooted again. This time, Jack responded in kind. They now sat thigh to thigh. Her hand left her lap and snaked over to his knee.

Aunt P spied them from across the room and scowled disapprovingly.

From there it became a game of subtle (and not so subtle) one-upmanship. He reached across and laid his hand down on top of hers. She turned her head and leaned closer. Jack sneaked his arm along the back of the couch. She slide her hand farther up his leg. Only his timely grip stopped her from traveling too far for public consumption. His hand curled around her shoulder, brushing her bare skin at the spaghetti strap. Long fingernails dug into his trouser pant leg. His back arched involuntarily and he fought to keep his breathing even.

Aunt P shook her head, gave up, and returned to mingling.

Jack tilted his head and found her ear to whisper in. “Care to finish this elsewhere?”


	33. The Pure In Heart

Her faith brought her to mass. Her curiosity kept her past the end. Dorothy was the last parishioner in the pews when Father Gregory divested. He paused, surprised to find her still present. “Are you alright, child?”

She hadn’t taken her eyes off the door that stood to the right of the altar. “I’m fine, Father! Thank you. I was just waiting,” she explained simply.

His brow furrowed. “Waiting for what?”

“Another priest went into the vestibule and he hasn’t come out. I expected him to serve with you.”

Father Gregory turned and looked over his shoulder. “It’s empty as far as I know.”

“A man with brown, shoulder length hair wearing a cassock entered at the beginning of the service. I haven’t seen him since. That’s the only door in, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Now his curiosity was piqued as well.

“Would you look for me, Father?” She was oddly fearful of what she might find or not find. Had she simply imagined him?

“We’ll look together,” he replied.

The door swung wide and they both peered in. The room was vacant.

“I’m sure I saw another priest.” She was quietly adamant.

Father Gregory smiled. “Perhaps you did, Dorothy.”


	34. Propose

Her question came out of the blue as they strolled. With her arm linked comfortably through his, Phryne glanced sidelong at Jack. “Why haven’t you asked me to marry you?”

The Inspector nearly tripped over his own two feet.

“Something I said?” she asked, feigning innocence. For a woman who professed to take nothing seriously, she often tackled complex issues with an unprecedented level of directness.

After overcoming the shock, Jack came to a stop and turned to her. It was a conversation he’d continue only if face to face. The answer he gave was equally as direct. “You said once any man willing to proposed to you was foolish.”

“Or brave.” The quick retort revisited his own words from the exchange of old.

“If I thought there was half a chance you’d say yes, I would have asked a long time ago,” he told her with heartfelt honesty.

Her breath caught. For once, she was at a loss for words. Surely he hadn’t given up on her. Here they were, together as always.

“You’re the epitome of the modern woman,” he continued. “Which means I’ve chosen to be content with the prospect that someday _you_ might propose to _me_.”

(Prompt: Propose.)


	35. Baffled

From inside the vehicle, Jack kept watch on the familiar house of 221B and its surroundings. Hours had passed since the arrival of night and St. Kilda was shrouded in darkness. Fully alert, his gaze traveled to the end of the street. Another car sat near the corner, Constable Collins sunk low in the driver’s seat. Two other constables were strategically placed about the neighborhood, unseen.

Through the parlor curtains, he observed Phryne’s silhouetted figure from the shoulders up. She lifted a flute glass to her lips then set it aside. Her hair swung slightly as she bowed forward then sat upright.

Jack drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, hoping to contain his rising level of anxiety. Why she insisted upon making herself an easy target confounded and agitated him. There was no predicting from where or when Marcus Long would make his attempt.

The passenger side door unlatched, startling him. Instinctively, he reached for his firearm. A darkly clad figure climbed in, keeping low. The head of black hair was immediately recognizable. Jack’s brow furrowed in confusion. He took a quick look back at the window. There she was.

“How-”

“-can I be in two places at once?” She smiled, settling into the seat beside him. Without answering the question, she handed him a vacuum flask.

Truly baffled, he reached out to take it.

“Tea,” she explained. “It’s the least I can do for the valiant officer of the law steadfastly guarding me.”

“If you’re here, who’s at the window?”

“A very well dressed skeleton.”

The whole scenario dawned on him. “Doctor Macmillan. Of course,” he declared, wholehearted relieved Phryne was here with him and not personally baiting her would-be killer.

“You should have seen the look on her face when I asked if I could borrow it.”

He couldn’t help but smile slightly.

“Mr. Butler volunteered to manhandle it every so often. To make it look realistic.”

“It fooled me,” he admitted.

“Let’s hope it fools Mr. Long as well.” Her eyes drifted to her gloves and her expression turned serious.

“Did you go out the back?” She’d taken a risk by coming out into the open, even under the cover of night.

She nodded.

“Did you see anyone follow?”

“Not that I noticed,” she replied. “Do you really think he’ll try to kill me, Jack?”

At that very moment, a shot rang out.

(Prompt: Baffled. An obvious nod to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s “The Adventure of the Empty House”. How can we not have Sherlock references with a house labeled 221B?)


	36. Bully

Hugh hesitated at the office door, wishing neither to interrupt nor eavesdrop on the hushed conversation between Miss Fisher and the Inspector. She adjusted the sling at his collar, careful not to unnecessarily jostle his newly broken arm. His long face revealed signs of both fatigue and pain. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied the Constable and glanced up expectantly.

“Alibi checks out,” Hugh reported sadly. “Marsh was at the pub at the time of his wife’s murder.”

Jack sighed, disappointed. “Book him on assault and throw away the damn key, Collins.”

He smiled. “Happy to, sir.”

(OneWord prompt: Bully. A sequel of sorts to “Rocket”.)


	37. Special

She poured them each a glass. Jack caught sight of the name on the label, surprised.

“This isn’t-”

“It _is_ ,” she replied, pleased with his discovery.

“You kept a second bottle.”

“How could I possibly not? It had such promise in its infancy. I wanted to see how it would age.”

He read the year. “Has it really been fifteen years?”

She took a sip, closing her eyes to savor the first taste. “Fifteen… glorious… years.”

“Is it everything you hoped it would be?”

The tone of his question enticed her to reopen her eyes. “And so very much more.”

(OneWord prompt: Scent.)


	38. The Encore

An encore lay beyond his wildest hopes. Silent in his desire but longing nonetheless, never once did he verbally express his wish. The number of men in the room had been numerous but her attention had been drawn to the reactions of a single individual. His words weren’t needed. His intensely satisfied gaze communicated clearly. The Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher never forgot.

Two years later she pulled from her closet a pair of oversized pink fans and sent the household away. Sultry music from the parlor greeted him. She glanced at him seductively over the top of feathers, waiting. That same surprised and appreciative smile formed on his face as he rounded through the doors and into the room. A wink preceded her expert reproduction of the dance. Unbeknownst to Jack, his private encore contained a less than subtle difference. With her back to him, he glimpsed the first full body tease. Her callipygian frame was devoid of any costume. Unencumbered heat washed over him, lust and love growing side by side. The final flourish left her unashamedly naked before her audience of one. She’d never looked as beautiful or inviting.

He couldn’t cross the distance between them fast enough.

(Prompts: Curly and Callipygian.)


	39. This Waltz

Waltzing with Jack had evolved into unspoken conversation, admiration, and even foreplay. Like her mother, she too had lost all reason. Her brain begrudged not her heart. With Jack as her partner in all aspects of life, an unfathomable freedom overcame her. His posture upright and commanding, his chin firmly set, Jack gazed upon her with unending tenderness. One hand at her waist and the other outstretched, he gently caressed the skin of her hand with his thumb. It was his subtle promise, a private moment shared in public. The dance floor, like life, was too small to contain them.

(Prompt: Caress.)


	40. Guilty Pleasure

It was a guilty pleasure and Phryne indulged in it without remorse. In the early mornings before Jack stirred, she watched him sleep. Face to face, heads resting comfortably on their pillows, her eyes roamed his every feature. Eyelashes, nose, lips, and even his ears. His warm breath lingered near her cheek. What captivated and delighted her was his hair. She longed to run her fingers through it, to tease the unruly curls. During the day, his hair was straight, befitting an orderly man. During the night as he gathered her close, it like the rest of him came undone.

(Prompt: Curly.)


	41. Feisty

The last remaining task in his regular morning routine arrived. As he reached for the container, another hand moved past his and snatched it. He glanced up over his shoulder at his thief, expectantly. Phryne held it up out of his reach and gave her eyebrows a quick waggle.

“May I please have it back?” A more polite and patient question there never was.

“What if I don’t _want_ to give it back?”

“Then I’ll be doomed to parade about with an unruly head.”

“I quite like your unruly head,” she declared, sensually running her free hand through his curly hair.

He took the opportunity to reach for the stolen goods but came up empty handed. She’d already turned to mischievously flee. Grinning, he propelled himself from the chair and pursued her with abandonment.

The sound of her laughter filled the bedroom as she expertly evaded him. She maintained an advantage up until making a disastrous decision. She thought she’d escape by climbing over the bed, placing a barrier between them. He raced right behind her, throwing his arm around her, pinning her effectively to the blankets.

Her glee blossomed. Being caught was just as much fun as being chased.

(Prompt: Feisty.)


	42. Tyrant

Bitter tears were shed in silence. Hatred festered in her heart. With her knees pulled up and her arms wrapped around her legs, she buried her face. It didn’t matter that there was no one to see. She hid from herself. A faint light crept in under the door, depriving her of complete darkness. In the pitch black, the minuscule closet could be any size her imagination desired. Instead she was forced to accept corners that encroached. Adding insult to injury, garment ends assaulted the crown of her head whenever she moved.

Her plea rose as a tortured whisper. “Alakazam.”

(OneWord prompt: Tyrant.)


	43. Fly

She would never admit to it in a million years but the thought of flying sparked a minuscule fear. It reared its ugly head whenever she approached a plane. A bold smile would form on her face and Phryne would stomp on it. Crush it. Bury it before it grew into an unmanageable monster. There was too much adventure to be found in the clouds for freight to consume her. Indeed there was too much adventure to be found in life. She reveled in the exhilarating feeling of triumph. The future lay before her and she was ready to conquer.

(Prompt: Flying.)


	44. Instantly

She didn’t instantly like or dislike him. He was merely another uniform with credentials. It didn’t matter that his uniform was a suit or that his title was Detective Inspector instead of Constable. The jewels spoke for themselves. He would do his duty like all the rest.

“You don’t have a choice,” he insisted.

She squared her shoulders and firmly lifted her chin in defiance. Silence met his demanding stare.

Then an introduction was made to a dark haired woman and Jane watched him walk way, bewildered by his departure. He hadn’t arrested her. She was sure he would, regardless of anything she did or didn’t say. Regardless of the truth, no matter how outlandish it seemed. In that instant, Jack Robinson became an enigma in the eyes of Jane Ross.

Then events unfolded in a most unexpected fashion. When she finally decided to talk, she found he was willing to listen. Although reluctant to believe, he ultimately did. Merton and Gay went to prison. Ruth would return happily to her grandmother. Jane would never have to return to Welfare again. Justice was done.

Jane _did_ have a choice. She decided Detective Inspector Jack Robinson wasn’t like all the rest.

(OneWord prompt: Instantly.)


	45. Tense

Jack twisted his neck to the right then followed through by turning it as far as it would travel in the opposite direction. Then he relaxed the muscles and let his head roll a full rotation. The crackling that emanated was akin to car tires on a gravel road. Ignoring it, he tilted his chin down toward his breast bone then tipped his gaze straight up at the ceiling. Twin rocks sat between his shoulder blades. His anger had calmed to a quiet fire but his body remained tense. He waited impatiently in the familiar parlor for her return, concern and anxiety keeping him company. From across the room, the whiskey called to him. He eyed it several times but never fell to the temptation. A clear head was not only required but desired.

 _It was a misunderstanding. It wasn’t what it seemed. There had to be a reasonable explanation._ He repeated all these things silently in his mind, leaning on his own faculties to bolster his internal flailing. The longer he waited, the more agitated he became.

Precisely when he thought himself unable to wait a moment longer, Phryne swept in like a fresh breeze. “Jack!”

She threw off her coat and flung it across the back of a chair, a grin adorning her face. Next came the hat. With a carefree toss, it landed not far from the coat. She planted fingers in her flat hair and livened it up.

Jack froze in his tracks, a serious gaze inspecting her for any telltale signs.

Phryne picked up on his facial expression immediately and eyed him questioningly. “Too much?” she inquired, smoothing her hair back down.

He’d wanted her to return so badly and now that she was here, he found himself at a loss. How would he begin? Was it really his business? How could he in good conscious not involve himself? He cared too much to let it go. She seemed whole, happy, and healthy but his concern didn’t diminish.

“What is it? Something’s wrong.” She stepped into his personal space.

He swallowed and forced himself to start, gesturing to the love seat. “Why don’t we-”

“Is it Jane? Is she alright?” The questions were forceful and direct, amplified by urgency. Her last letter indicated she’d taken sick with a nasty cold.

She’d jumped straight to worst case scenarios. Jack suddenly felt awful. “No, no. She’s fine. As far as I’m aware.”

He dared to take her hand and together they descended to the cushions, side by side. Despite being reassured, Phryne still looked apprehensive.

“Miss Williams stopped by this morning to speak with Constable Collins. She was very upset.”

Immediately, she began to rise to go in search of Dot but Jack still had a hold of her hand. He squeezed gently and refused to relinquish his grip. It was also a silent request. He didn’t want her to run off half-cocked. She reluctantly sat back down.

“She was concerned… about you.”

She seemed genuinely taken aback. “Me?”

“She was positively sure you’d been grievously mistreated.”

“That’s absurd. No one has-” Her words abruptly dropped off and the look of disbelief on her face morphed into shocked realization.

When no further explanation was forthcoming, Jack gently pushed the issue. He tried desperately to keep his inquiry neutral and calm despite feeling the opposite. “ _Has_ someone mistreated you?”

“Oh the poor dear,” Phryne sighed miserably. Her eyes strayed and only eventually did they return to Jack. “She came in early while I was dressing. She must have seen-”

Tears threatened to spill.

Frustration boiled to the surface. “She’s concerned for you and you’re concerned for her. But neither one of you are making much sense.”

She extricated her hand and slowly shifted so that her back was facing him. For a moment, Jack feared she’d ended the conversation, that turning from him was a dismissal. Then her elbows could be seen on either side of her torso and she glanced down. She unfastened her blouse and slide it back in a controlled and deliberate motion, exposing her shoulders and the top of her back.

Jack was aghast.

Bruises of deep red and purple covered her skin. Each was circular, some distinctly separate. In many cases, they overlapped to make a continuous pattern. It looked exceptionally painful. To Jack, it appeared as if she’d been beaten. He reached out to touch the offended areas but stopped short. A fist involuntarily clenched instead. Now it was he who was inclined to run off half-cocked. “Who’s responsible for this?”

She pulled her blouse back up and closed it once again. “It isn’t what either one of you think.”

 _It was a misunderstanding. It wasn’t what it seemed. There had to be a reasonable explanation._ His own mantra from earlier played through. “If it isn’t what it looks like, then what is it?” 

“A very old medical practice. Oriental mostly. It may look terrible but I assure you, it’s really quite beneficial. The discoloration is only superficial and will fade quickly.”

He wasn’t sure if he could bring himself to believe. “Surely Doctor Macmillan-”

She turned to face him again, fully covered. “-can’t service all my needs,” she finished with a smile. “Although she does give a wicked massage.”

The comment accomplished its purpose. The tension in his frame visibly eased. Phryne recaptured his hand and with the other, reached out to cup his cheek.

“I’m sorry to have upset _both_ of you.”

(Prompt: Tense. Fiction imitating life.)


	46. Our Yesterdays, Stolen

Phryne was captivated by the photograph. A handsome young man stared back at her. Although he was smiling, there was a seriousness about him that couldn’t be denied. A wave of brown hair had fallen slightly over his forehead. The rest had been neatly combed into place. Intense brown eyes seemed to follow her regardless of her viewing angle. She picked up the frame to take a closer look. “Quite a dashing fellow. Who is he?”

Rosie eventually appeared at her elbow. Longing made her gaze infinitely sad. “Jack,” she replied quietly. “My darling Jack.”

He wore a crisp military uniform. The only other picture of him was across the room, standing side by side with an equally as young Rosie. A wedding picture Phryne surmised. “Your husband?”

She nodded slowly.

Phryne felt her heart ache in sympathy. “He never made it back from the war, did he?”

She drew in a deep breath, forcing her emotions into line. It wouldn’t do to cry on a stranger’s shoulder. They’d met only the day before. “No, he didn’t. He died within the first year. We were fortunate enough to exchange a few letters before he was killed.”

“I’m terribly sorry.” The sentiment was deeply sincere.

“We would have been so happy, Miss Fisher.” Her voice was strong and resolute.

“Yes, I’m sure you would have.”

Rosie hesitated. “Did you by any chance-”

“Did our paths by any chance cross?” She shook her head, adding, “His is a face I’d never forget.”

(Prompt: “What if Jack never returned from the war?”)


	47. The Trouble In Lilydale

“I just received the most interesting telephone call from the Lilydale Constabulary,” Jack announced.

Phryne groaned.

“They were searching for the whereabouts of one-”

“No! Don’t tell me.”

“Did you want to hear the charges? I wrote them down.”

“That many?”

“Quite an impressive list given how long he was actually there.”

“Please tell me I don’t have to fly all the way back to England to retrieve him.”

“No. But they might.”

The thought of her father returning made her sick to the stomach. “Think I could bribe them to look the other way?” she asked with sour facetiousness.

Jack grinned. “Only if you want to share a cell with him.”


	48. The Lilydale Lockup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A sequel to “The Trouble in Lilydale”.)

“Phryne-”

His pleading sounded more like whining and her jaw clenched at the sound of her name upon his lips. With her arms tightly crossed, Phryne stood in the opposite corner of the room with her back turned. She was so furious she couldn’t bring herself to even glance in his general direction, let alone speak to him.

“You’re being unreasonable.”

“Oh that’s rich coming from you.” The spiteful words escaped seemingly of their own volition.

“It’s all a misunderstanding!”

She whirled around, a rage burning in her eyes. “Why can’t you ever take responsibility for your mistakes?”

“I haven’t done anything!”

Phryne didn’t believe him for a second. Past precedent spoke for itself. Her retort flew back at him, heavy with malicious sarcasm. “Of course you haven’t! You’re perfectly innocent!”

“I am! You said not even I could get into trouble in Lilydale. You were right!”

She fumed, resisting the urge to pace her tiny cage.

Just then the jangle of keys could be heard approaching. A constable stepped through the outer doors. “I’m sorry, Lord. Seems you were right. We just picked up a dead ringer. Turns out he tried his luck after you’d already left the area. You’re free to go. The Inspector would like you to stay in the area for the next day or two, please. For any additional questions we might have.”

The prisoner beamed, feeling vindicated, and leapt to his feet. When the jail door swung open, he was quick to exit. Phryne tried to trail behind him but the constable blocked her path.

“I’m sorry, Miss. I’m only here for the Baron.”

“Time to take responsibility for your mistakes,” her father parroted back with an evident tone of self-satisfaction. The irony delighted him no end.

A frustrated growl formed in her throat. “You’d better close this door, Constable. Or you’ll have to add ‘murder’ to my list of offenses.”


	49. Lunch In Lilydale

(Sequel to "The Lilydale Lockup".)

Silence had never been her enemy but inactivity she well and truly loathed. There was no doubt about it. She was going stir-crazy. At least while her father had been in the small cell with her, he’d provided an unpleasant but effective distraction. Now Phryne’s only companion was an empty bucket that occupied an otherwise empty corner. It couldn’t carry a tune or a civilized conversation. She ceased her pacing, huffed, and flopped down on the bench. A sound of frustration escaped her that resembled more of a yell than a scream.

“Is now a good time?”

Her gaze shot up. There poking his head in through the open door was Detective Inspector Jack Robinson. She rocketed to her feet, overjoyed to see him. “Very funny. It seems all I have is time.”

He grinned and entered the remainder of the way. In one hand, he held the cell keys and in the other, a basket large enough to carry a full meal.

“Please tell me I’m being released. If I have to spend another minute in this jail-”

“You’re in luck. A reputable character reference has come forth to vouch for you.”

She sighed in relief and met him at the door as it swung open. Long arms curled around his neck and she pulled him into a close embrace. She held onto him for dear life, letting the irritation, anger, and dismay bleed from her soul.

“I’m sorry you were stuck in here so long with him,” he whispered apologetically.

She inhaled deeply, allowing the scent of him to drown out all others. “I should have let him rot.”

His lack of response was interpreted as an agreement. Quietly, he held her.

When she finally pulled away, she felt more like her old self.

“Although you’d never know it from here, it’s a clear day out. Mrs. Collins sent along lunch. And I took the train so that I could ride back with you. What do you say we have a leisurely picnic, a lovely drive home, and forget your father ever existed?”

For the first time since his arrival, Phryne smiled. “Jack Robinson. You can be my ‘reputable character reference’ any time you please.”


	50. Our Privilege

Jack wasn’t sure when it happened.  He only knew that it had and that he was comfortable with his awkwardness.  It wasn’t a natural action for him, caring for a child.  But Jane was _his_ , even though their introduction had been later in her life.  That made it his privileged to assist her through all aspects and trials of life.  Not all of them had been easy.  “Nothing that matters ever is,” Phryne had reminded him on more than one occasion.  He couldn’t bring himself to disagree.  She possessed an uncanny wisdom, born of experience, and he respected and took consolation in her sometimes solemn reflections.

Although it meant no sleep for himself, Jack sat up with Jane when she fell ill.  Fever racked her body.  She tossed and turned, struggling beneath her blankets to escape an enemy that had no form, and then would suddenly lay unnervingly still.  Her breathing was tortured and Jack listened with a pained heart.  He rose from his bedside chair many times to smooth her sweaty forehead and whisper reassurances.  They were as much for himself as they were for her.  Whenever she woke, he quietly encouraged her to drink.  Then selfishly when she succumbed again, he prayed Phryne was here in the house with them.  He longed for her support.

He drifted in and out most of the night, never completely allowing himself to sink deeply.  Alert ears listened even as he dozed.  He was only minimally aware of Mr. Butler silently entering and retreating and Mrs. Collins popping her head in.  Doctor Macmillan had been by the day before and would be around again in the morning.  Until then, Jack watched, waited, and did his best not to worry.  The last part of that particular equation was far easier said than done.

(300 words. Privilege.)


	51. Inevitable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A runaway sequel to "Our Privilege". Parents seem to always get sick after looking after their kiddos.)

Sitting upright in bed with pillows supporting her, Jane drank her tea slowly.  She couldn’t remember anything tasting so perfectly warm and sweet.  Mr. Butler had offered to bring her a breakfast tray but the thought of food wasn’t the least bit appealing.  Toast seemed to miraculously appear despite her disinterest.  Summoning the energy to eat wasn’t as difficult as she thought it would be and already, half of it was gone.

The door to her room cracked open and for a moment, she thought it was Dot coming to check on her.  When she caught a glimpse of black hair, a smile leapt to her face and warmth unrelated to fever came over her.  Excited, Jane nearly neglected to bring a single finger to her lips as warning.  She’d been awake for close to an hour now but someone else still slept.

Phryne heeded the warning and crept in silently.  The lines of worry eased from her face as she drew closer.  They threw their arms around each other even before Phryne had the chance to settle herself on the edge of the bed.  The overdue traveler breathed a sigh of relief.  At last she was home and could see for herself that Jane was improving.

“How are you feeling?”  The question was but a whisper.

“Better.”

Phryne pulled back to have a good look at her.  Clear, coherent eyes returned her gaze and she was pleased to see Jane’s skin seemed neither pale nor parched.  She gently swept Jane’s errant bangs away from her forehead.  The gesture reminded the young woman so intensely of Jack’s recent care that her attention strayed to the bedside chair.

Lurching precariously to the side, it was a wonder Jack remained seated in it at all.  His head hung low upon his chest, rising and falling with the natural rhythm of his somnolent breathing.  His shirtsleeves had been rolled up to his elbows and gone were his customary vest and tie.  His face had been scrubbed and shaved but his hair had taken on a life of its own.  No one had been witness to the number of times he’d run his hand through it nervously.  Abruptly, he sucked in a deep breath, righted himself, and lifted his head.  Rolling his neck lethargically in every direction, he finally lifted his fingers to massage the aching muscles.

Both ladies tried to stifle their amusement.

The noise alerted him.  Droopy eyelids blinked several times over dark circles and with effort, his eyesight focused.  His glassy expression masked his surprise.  He cleared his throat, but the question that followed was hoarse.  “When did you get in?”

Phryne’s concern, so quickly dispelled by the sight of Jane, returned again with full force.  “Just now.”

He was overjoyed and comforted by her return.  All emotions however were dampened by a thick layer of haze, keeping him pinned to the uncomfortable chair.  He somehow managed to miss seeing her rise and close the short distance between them.  The back of her hand upon his own forehead nearly startled him.

“I rushed home as soon as I could,” she soothed.  “You did a fine job with Jane.  I expected to find her at least dehydrated and here she is, sipping tea like nothing’s happened.”

Jane smiled.  The beauty of such a simple action lifted Jack’s weary heart.  In the darkest of moments when her fever raged, he doubted he would ever witness it again.  The uncommon urge to cry suddenly inundated him.  Perhaps he was far more tired than he realized.

“You’ve fallen prey to the curse of the caretaker,” Phryne lamented.

He glanced up, his brow furrowed.  What was she trying to tell him?

“Time for bed, Jack.”  She’d adopted that tone of voice, the one that was firm and suffered no argument.

She was making absolutely no sense.  He’d just woken up.  Why should he return to sleep?

Mr. Butler, his timing impeccable as always, appeared at the door.  “I’ve taken the liberty of turning down the covers, Miss,” he announced, rightly anticipating the need.  He grinned at Jane before ducking back out, pleased by her progress.

“Did you hear me?”

“What?”  Had he missed something?

“I said ‘you’re running a fever’.”

He couldn’t remember her saying as much.  Maybe he _did_ need to sleep.

“Jack-”  She took hold of his hand and encouraged him to stand. The thought of soft covers and the opportunity to lay horizontally was enough to entice him.   The promise of Phryne eventually curled up against him gave him the willpower to follow through.

Jane reached out to him as he passed.  He dropped his free hand into hers and squeezed it gently.  Despite his depleted state, a reassuring smile surfaced.  He found himself physically linked to the two most important people in his life.  The curse of the caretaker he decided was a minuscule price to pay for time well spent.


	52. Camouflage

In torn, dirty clothes, he crouched by the meager fire.  He’d pulled the battered cap down around his ears but it hadn’t fit right to begin with.  Little extra warmth could be gained from it.  He flexed his stiff toes regularly as they threatened to fall asleep.  Waiting was a miserable business.

“I ain’t seen the likes of you before,” a gravelly voice boomed.

The newcomer glanced up just in time to see a hand shoved into his face.  Caught off guard, he fell awkwardly to the filthy pavement.  Hearty laughter rang out above him.  The voice belonged to a giant of a man, far outweighing the prone figure.  Staying down seemed like the best decision available.  He didn’t want a fight on his hands or any other unnecessary attention.

“Oh leave him be,” a nearby woman ordered, more annoyed than angry.

The brute cracked his knuckles.

“Get lost!  He’s one of mine.”

The declaration seemed to abruptly terminate the behemoth’s interest.  He turned and wandered off, shaking his head and muttering under his breath.  The bedraggled woman guarded the downed man as the brawler lumbered away.  “Any excuse for a fight, that one.”

There was no escaping the dampness now that he’d landed in it.  He pushed himself to a seated position, his trousers and threadbare jacket wet, and leaned against a wall to rest.  The woman settled down beside him, shoulder to shoulder.  Reaching into her jacket, she pulled out a flask and offered it to him wordlessly.

It was tempting.  Cold had crept into his bones.  “No, thank you.”

She took a swig herself before tucking it away again.  “What are you doing here, Jackie Boy?”

“I’ve taken up a new career,” he answered with pleasant sarcasm.

Elsie grinned.  “And I’m the bloomin’ queen.”

Jack eventually inclined his head toward the establishment across the street.  A single sign in the left window proclaimed “Tea and Spices”.  Heavy curtains blocked out the interior.

The smile dropped from her face.

The change in her expression didn’t go unnoticed.  “What do you know, Else?”

She lifted her chin.  “I don’t know nothing.”

Jack glanced sidelong at her, picking up on the fear present in her rote response.  The statement was a lie and they both knew it.  Without pushing, Jack’s gaze expectantly lingered.

Faith and trust finally won out.  “I know people go in and sometimes they don’t come out.”

(OneWord prompt: Camouflage.  400 words.)


	53. B & E

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Inspired by aljohnsonwrites, who labeled the black beret Phryne’s “Break and Enter Beret”. I loved the image.)

Jack eyed her critically, his gaze coming to rest on her hat.

“What?” She reached up to adjust the black beret.

“It never bodes well when you wear that.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s only a hat,” she replied, feigning innocence.

“It’s only a hat you don when you plan to commit a certain illegal act.”

She shifted from one foot to the other and looked away for a second. “I wear it plenty of other times too,” she pointed out.

He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a folded document for her to inspect. “The search warrant was issued this morning. Would you care to join me in a perfectly _legitimate_ capacity?”

She grinned. “I could be convinced.”


	54. Point

“Robinson!”

Before the order was issued, Jack knew his time had come.  The rotation make the whole process fair and predictable, never placing any one man out front for too lengthy a period of time.  The risk of being first killed was spread equally.  His stomach, which had been growling for hours, suddenly turned sour.  He lifted his eyes from Rosie’s cursive handwriting, folded the letter along well established lines, and tucked it into a particular pocket.  Her familiar words lent him comfort and offered him hope during an otherwise fearful existence.

“You’re walking point.”

Jack reached for his rifle.

(OneWord prompt: Point.  100 words.)


	55. Portal

Jane hesitated outside on the sidewalk, pausing to look up at the sign.  Nearly her entire childhood had been spent trying to avoid the law, fearing a future of incarceration.  Now she was here by choice.  She reached for the doorknob twice before finally turning it.  Passing over the threshold felt like stepping into a trap.  It took every ounce of willpower to override the long ingrained instincts.

Hugh did a double take.  “Miss Jane!”

Her eyes traveled the confines of the lobby nervously before she met the constable’s gaze.

“What brings you by?”  It was the first time he could recall her ever visiting the station.

A thousand answers raced through her mind, some more complicated than others.  “I’ve come to see the Inspector.  Is he in?”

“Down the hall,” he replied cheerfully, always ready to help.  “Just knock before you go in.”

She did as instructed, her apprehension slowing her approach.  New territory required caution.  Jack’s head shot up as she rapped on the glass.  Any initial expression of shock was quickly replaced by his disarming smile.  “This is a pleasant surprise.  Everything alright at home?”

She nodded but hung close to the entrance.

He capped his fountain pen, abandoned his paperwork, and rose from behind his desk.   “Come in.  Have a seat,” he beckoned, gesturing to the empty chair.

She tensed and glanced back over her shoulder, torn between advancing and retreating.

Jack read her body language with ease.  He rounded the desk slowly, perched himself on the corner, and nestled his hands together on his lap.  “Jane,” he began quietly.  “You know my door is always open to you.”

Despite her anxiety, she knew his statement to be true.   Never before had he turned her away and today would be no different.

“I need your help.”

(OneWord prompt: Portal.  300 words.)


	56. Drop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Continues after "Portal".)

Once Jane started, her description ran wild.

“I went into the library.  To return the book I’d been reading.  That’s where I found her.  There was blood everywhere.  On her head.  On her hands.  And all over the carpet.  She-”

“Whoa.  Slow down,” Jack interrupted, rising from the corner of the desk.  “When did this happen?”

“This morning!  At the Academy!  I went to tell the Headmaster but he didn’t believe me.  He thought I was imagining the whole thing!  I dragged him back to see but-”

She stopped short, her eyes deeply troubled.

“But what?”

“She wasn’t there anymore.”

(OneWord Prompt: Drop.  100 words.)


	57. Sobbing

“Been a long time, Jack.”

A whiskey was placed on the bar in front of the Inspector, no order necessary.  His customer bobbed his chin in silent greeting before reaching for the drink.  Jack knocked it back in one uninterrupted motion.  The empty glass was soon swapped out for a second round.

“I hear you made it official today.”

Sad eyes glanced up.  “Where’d you hear that?”

“People talk.”

“People should talk less,” Jack decided.

“That’s not what they come here to do.”

Jack placed his hand around the glass but didn’t immediately pick it up.

“I know it was a long time coming but something like this… It hits a man.  Makes him look at himself differently.  Maybe even makes him angry.  Drives him to drink too much.”

His attention drifted to the liquor unconsumed.

“Try and look at it this way.  It was just a bunch of paperwork.  You do paperwork everyday, right?  The real decisions were made years back.  What you two did today was just a formality.”

Jack rebelled against the thought.

“Besides… I hear you’re wooing a pretty dame!”

His grip on the glass tightened.

“Feisty.  About so tall.  Black-”

“Miss Fisher is not a _dame._ ”

“Whatever you say, Jack.”

He downed the second glass, slamming it on the bar harder than intended.

A third was not forthcoming.  “That’s all you get.”

Jack’s glare hardened.  “I know my limits.”

“Not today you don’t.  You’re dry eyed but you’re cryin’ inside.  I’m not gunna let you drowned yourself.  Besides, how would your new dame feel if you showed up on her doorstep drunk?”

He pondered the question before dropping some money between them.  It covered far more than just the whiskeys.

(OneWord prompt: Sobbing.)


	58. Broken Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N: My SUV broke down and all you get is this lousy fic.)

“Awful showy,” the new constable muttered under his breath.

Hugh stiffened but said nothing.  Jack locked an inscrutable gaze upon him.  Miss Fisher took the comment completely in stride.  “Isn’t it the most beautiful shade of red?  I had it custom ordered.  This is the first time I’ve ever had any trouble with it.  Usually it runs like a charm and corners like a dream.  Once she’s up and running again, maybe I’ll let you take her out for a spin.”

The shade he turned didn’t quite match the brilliance of the Hispano-Suiza.

“Perhaps you could give us a lift since I suspect our destinations are the same,” Jack suggested.

To his new subordinate, it sounded more like an order.  “Ye-  Yes, sir,” he stammered.

The senior constable wordlessly offered up his keys to the Inspector.

“Go ahead and drive, Collins.  I’ll take the back seat with Miss Fisher.”

Several kilometers down the road, Phryne slid a little closer.  She leaned in and whispered in a tone heavy with innuendo, “So this is what it’s like to ride in the back of a police car.”

“If you’d like to make the experience more authentic, I have handcuffs available.”

Collins nearly lost control of the vehicle.


	59. Brownies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Self Prompt: What if Jack had eaten too many brownies instead of Mr. Butler?)

“Well, he’s not there now.  You did tell him-”

“That you weren’t sure when you’d return?  Yes, Miss,” Dot replied.  “He said he was willing to wait.  So I led him into the parlor and brought him some treats to pass the time.”

Mr. Butler paled.  “Not the brownies, I hope.”

She nodded, unaware of the ramifications of her actions.  “The ones in the red tin,” she confirmed.

Phryne groaned before briefly shutting her eyes, shaking her head, and silently cursing her dear, deranged cousin.  “Mr. Butler, check out front.  Dot, you take the back.  I’ll search the rest of the house,” she ordered.  “Hopefully he hasn’t wandered too far.”

She found him in the spare bedroom, straddling a chair.  With both hands firmly planted on the top of the backrest, he rocked from side to side in an even sway.  His suit jacket, vest, and tie lay abandoned on the floor.  Phryne hesitated at the door, observing tension free shoulders and a head hung low.

“Jack?”

The gentle weave continued uninterrupted.

She circled around to his left but stopped short.  The expression on his face was just as relaxed as the rest of his body and it was captivating to behold.  “Where are you riding, Jack?”

He glanced up at the sound of her voice and his eyes lit up with unconcealed joy.

Her heart began to race.

Reaching for her hand, he gently pulled her toward him.  She awkwardly fell across his leg but didn’t bother to right herself.

It didn’t matter where Jack’s mind had taken him.  It mattered that Phryne was along for the ride.


	60. In Your Drawers

“What case file are you keeping in your top drawer?”

“You’ve been in my drawers?”

She turned her head but continued to track him with her eyes.  A playful smile accompanied a suggestive twinkle.  The double meaning delighted her no end.

“I love being in your drawers,” she purred.

His chin dropped, making his serious expression seem more stern.  Silence pressed her for a more forthright response.

“I was making sure the spiders were gone.”

“Spider,” he corrected evenly.  “And yes, it’s gone.  Although keeping it on hand did have its advantages.”

“You just liked having your way with me.”

“I don’t need a spider available to have my way with you, Miss Fisher,” he countered.

Phryne leaned closer, well within his personal space.

Jack held his ground.

“I certainly hope not,” she whispered.


	61. Monster

_Phryne crept under the edge of the enormous circus tent.  The cheering of the crowd and the enchanted tunes of the calliope captivated her first.  Next came the ringmaster’s booming voice.  “Ladies and gentleman!  Boys and girls of all ages!”  
_

_Try as she may, she couldn’t tear her attention away.  The magician mocked all worldly explanation.  The lion tamer tempted danger with unfailing courage.  The trapeze artists defied gravity.  The gasps of surprise and wonder died down to an unnatural and elongated silence._

_Dread overcame her._

_She cried out and turned, knowing it would be too late._

_Jack was gone._

(100 words.  Prompt: Monsters.)


	62. Boom

Any door could be opened with the correct key and any security protocol circumvented.  The opportunity for freedom would no doubt present itself or be fabricated when the time was right.  So vigilant he remained.  The wait was punctuated by the occasional visit.  It was always _her_ and this deeply pleased him.  Just as he had not forgotten, she too circled around him, tethered by both the past and the future.  Her hateful words only fed his desire to share.  Resisting required all his willpower.

The door slammed shut between them but he knew.  His secret would compel her return.

(100 words.  OneWord prompt: Boom.)


	63. Delivery

The first full day over the sea soured her ecstatic mood.  Her father yelling hopelessly over the wind didn’t help in the least.  Jack was behind her and England lay ahead.  Their joyous parting had sustained her and with all her being she longed to return to continue what they’d only just started.

She cast her gaze down at the endless blue then back up as it stretched to the horizon.  Normally the ocean invigorated her.  Today it reminded her the distance from home grew greater.

She drew in a deep breath and let it go.

_It’s only a delivery._

(100 words.  OneWord prompt: Delivery.)


	64. Angels

As the current drew him under, the world fell silent.  Jack fought to no avail.  Both his breath and orientation deserted him.  Before his eyelids began to close, he marveled in a sudden sense of peace.  The water caressed and carried him where it willed.

Then it began.

Many voices united as one.  The volume built steadily and beckoned in a manner that could not be denied.  There was no choice but to ride the wave.

Then there was inexplicably another.

She called his name.

How could he refuse?

The whole heavenly choir could not compete with her divine voice.

(100 words.  OneWord prompt: Angels.)


	65. Descended

Shadows born of a sleepless night darkened his eyes.  An endless stare fell upon the forgotten paperwork before him.  The pen he’d been using to write his report rested motionless in his relaxed hand.  The words had faded, giving way to the vivid scenario that had tortured his mind for hours on end.

Phryne silently observed him from the doorway, sympathetic to his struggle.

Admitting defeat, he tore himself away from the memory of his past decision and put the writing utensil down.

“Don’t doubt yourself, Jack,” she insisted quietly.

His gaze shot up, startled.

“You did the right thing.”

(100 words.  Prompt: Descended.)


	66. Endless

Bullets and bloodshed abounded that October day.  “History in the making”, the Superintendent declared victoriously, despite having played no hand in the outcome.  For Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, there was no joy or sense of accomplishment.  Disbelief settled on him like a hazy fog.

A week later, a new constable was assigned to the station.  He presented himself at attention.  “Constable Collins reporting, sir.”

Too young.  Too painfully inexperienced.  Too much like his slain predecessor.  Jack wondered if he would come to know this subordinate better than he had known the last.

His regret left wounds both ugly and unseen.

(100 words.  OneWord prompt: Endless.)


	67. Outsider

“How long have they been in love?”

Poor Dot’s eyes widened in shocked surprise.  “I really don’t think that’s-”

“Look at them,” the older woman insisted, gesturing across the street.

Dot followed her gaze to the two familiar figures.  Miss Phryne’s palm was pressed against his chest.  Then her fingers began to play innocently with the lapel of his overcoat.

“Their hands.”

Jack’s rose to take possession of hers.  A moment later, he opened the driver’s side door and helped her in.

“Their eyes.”

Never once did they stray.

“They may not know it yet but it’s plain to see.”

(100 words.  OneWord prompt: Outsider.)


	68. Turn

She’d turned it on a whim, without thought to the unexpected benefits.  It was, after all, just a vanity.

Now with his mouth worshiping her neck, Phryne tipped her head forward and pried open her eyes.  The sight of his bare shoulders and the back of his head greeted her.  The expression of ecstasy on her own face excited her further.  She raised a hand and buried it in his hair.  He responded in kind by wrapping an arm around her and pulling her closer, his efforts enthusiastically renewed.  She sighed and grinned.

Ninety degrees made such a glorious difference.

(100 words.  OneWord prompt: Turn.)


	69. Elm

Jane sank beneath the shade of the elm and stretched out upon the grass. It seemed a shame to close her eyes to such a beautiful day but the merciless heat threatened to bestow an unwanted gift. Headaches in the height of summer were increasingly common. She told herself she should really be studying but pushed the thought away as soon as it formed. Maybe she would skip her next class altogether. How much attention could she honestly grant her teacher when blue skies called to her from open windows?

She ran her fingers through the cool blades and smiled.


	70. The Second Candle

Trudging over the threshold into the house, they smeared mud and debris over the immaculately kept floor. Both wore long faces and dragged from the weight of exhaustion.

Jack paused only to shut the door behind them. A string of seaweed still clung to his soaked collar. His hat was missing altogether, another in a long line lost to circumstance. “Food or bath?”

“I’m starving,” Phryne groaned, shuffling toward the dinning room.

He followed her without question but pulled up short when she came to an abrupt halt.

The room was intimately lit and an elegant feast had been prepared. At the center of the table were two candles, with room for many more.

Phryne’s weariness bled away and for a moment she simply stood, amazed by all she saw and the timing by which it was presented. Silently she blessed Mr. Butler and every last unspoken understanding between them.

(OneWord prompt: Nourish. 150 words.)


	71. Undone

“Would you mind terribly?” Phryne turned her back, revealing a series of open clasps.

Jack paused, distracted by the sight of her bare skin. He dropped the tie around his neck, allowing it to hang freely. A step forward brought him close enough to assist.

The dress relaxed with each manipulation.

She grinned wickedly. An arm around her midsection kept the evening wear from sliding to the floor. “You were supposed to hook the rest, not undo the remaining.”

“Next time be more specific,” he teased, lightly caressing the length of her spine.

Fabric landed about her in a heap.

(OneWord prompt: Undone. 100 words.)


	72. Spin

This wasn’t how she expected it to end. There was still so much she wanted to do.

An undetected leak had sealed their fate. A fuel shortage had led to an unforeseen stall just kilometers from their intended airfield.

Over his shoulder, Phryne’s father screamed unheard obscenities and terrified ravings. Wind rushing past them created a deafening sound. Sky, water, and land swirled nauseatingly in a kaleidoscope of colors. The plane, once trustworthy, spun out of control. White knuckles struggled unsuccessfully with yaw and lift, all forward momentum lost.

Trees mercilessly thrashed the propeller seconds before the chaos abruptly ceased.

(OneWord prompt: Chaos. 100 words.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part one in an interlocking story made of drabbles. "Searching For Miss Fisher"


	73. Transformation

Some blamed it on the money. Some blamed her parents. Others recognized it as the product of her willful personality. Only those who knew her well truly understood. Hardship, death, war, and broken relationships left deep wounds and unfathomable scars. Instead of walling herself into a self-made fortress, she threw open her gates. She bore witness to the tears of others, encouraged the weak to be brave, and acknowledged that all manner of people struggled with the woes of the world. Most importantly, she rejected the expectations of an unfair society and learned to live by her own equitable rules.

(OneWord prompt: Transformation. 100 words. A character study.)


	74. A Recipe For Success

A savory smell wafted under her nose.

“Whatever it is you’re cooking smells divine, Mr. Butler,” Phryne declared, making herself comfortable at the kitchen table. Dot glanced sidelong at her with a sweet smile, her hands busy shucking peas.

“It’s a new recipe, translated from that cookbook there,” he informed her, gesturing to an open page written in Russian on the table across from her.

She reached for it immediately and sought out the foreign title. “A Gift to Young Housewives,” she read, wrinkling her nose.

“It’s just recently been banned.”

Spontaneously her mind was changed. “I like it already!”

(Prompt: Bourgeois. 100 words.)


	75. Dawn

The evidence added up.

She wouldn’t be put off by his attempt to bodily block the entrance. Instead she expertly ducked under his arm. Her use of gloves had effectively preserved any prints present at the scene. Astute statements revealed she was highly observant. Across the counter with Butcher George between them, she delivered her determined intentions to pursue justice.

As he choked on his own champagne, he suspected two additional conclusions based on the clues. Her investigative style would no doubt remain highly unorthodox. And no matter how many times he ran to her rescue, she’d always save herself.

(100 words. OneWord prompt: Dawn. Based on the episode “Cocaine Blues”.)


	76. Always With Us

I hold a privileged position, although you may not see it that way. You came to see me even before you were allowed. It takes much soul searching (or perhaps desperation) for a man who holds the law in such esteem to disregard it for his own benefit. The memory of her lying in the grass consumed you. Was it the worms that feasted on her body? You’d been friends since infancy. The two of you turned over rocks and played with snails, swapped funny stories and dreamed about the promises of adulthood. I know you still miss her. Her murder has long since been solved but the case still weighs on you. That’s how you have to think of it now, to make it easier. Her file sits in your top drawer, as if there was more you could have done. Or should have done. I’m sorry, Jack. You were just as much a victim as she was.

Then you came to see me again when you received the letter. You were of age this time. But you thought your fear somehow reflected poorly upon you. As if it somehow equated to a lack of courage. Your lovely new wife and your parents all wore the same expression. Pride and sadness mixed to create an imaginary funeral and they buried you before your time, before you’d even left.

War can ruin even the best of men. When you returned home, you counted yourself among them. The bride you had married didn’t know how to relate to a man with ghosts on his conscious. She didn’t know how to support or heal you. She was a good woman for trying and never hold it against her that she was unsuccessful. You saw me often behind her back and I was there for you when she finally left. Try as you may to keep our relationship a secret, my perfume betrayed you.

This new woman in your life is good for you. I like her even though the happiness she draws from your wells keeps you away from me. I’m not the jealous type. When you thought she’d died behind the wheel, it was no surprise you came running back to me. She’d become your whole world and you didn’t even know it until you perceived it as being too late. Her offer to make it a threesome was unexpected but not unwelcome. I’d left at that point. I would have stuck around but I’d already given of myself everything I could provide that day.

We’re still intimate even now. I was with you when you became a godfather. Happy occasions are wonderful and I’m so pleased to have been a part of them. For as terrible as the dark times have been, you’ve had your fair share of joy. When your friend received his own letter, you tried heroically to remain positive, to not bury him like they’d done you. In private, your brave face slid away. When his wife became a widow, you wept silently and held me close.

It wasn’t me in the end that preserved your sanity. Her love was stronger. She showed you life was worth living. All I could ever do was dull the pain. She achieved the same goal simply by being present, by whispering your name, by holding you closer than I ever could.

My advice will always be the same.

Drink, my friend. Take comfort where you can.

(Prompt: “Write from the perspective of a nearly empty bottle of whiskey.”)


	77. Patio

His love for the patio was no secret. Situated away from the street, the gentle rustling of leaves could be heard over the distant passing of vehicles. With his jacket slung neatly over the third chair, he enjoyed the cool breeze on his face. The heat at midday was enough to warm him through white shirtsleeves. When he opened his eyes, he was greeted by a lovely sight. Phryne was smiling down at him from above. He noticed immediately that her blouse complimented the colors around her and wondered if she’d planned it.

“Sit down and have tea with me.”

(OneWord prompt: Patio. 100 words.)


	78. Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some time ago I wrote a free form titled “Alive” from the prompt “cold”. It was the first time I’d used that type of storytelling to convey a MFMM scene. I enjoyed writing it but felt in many respects I had robbed myself of a much more detailed story. So I started to rewrite it in a conventional manner. Here it sits in my notebook, a beginning without an end. It may never be finished. Looking back at the original, I now feel like it was a risk that gave great reward. The setting and struggle are still as clear in my mind as the day I wrote it. The unedited alternative story fragment to “Alive” is available below.

It was an engineer who raced into the boiler room, but Jack, having not seen his attacker, had no way of knowing friend from foe. A single objective formed in his overheated and muddled brain: Reach the passenger deck at any cost. He knew he’d stand a better chance surviving if he wasn’t alone. There was safety in numbers, and in Miss Fisher’s concealed revolver. His own firearm had gone missing.

He did as much damage as possible without endangering the integrity of the ship or starting an unnecessary fire. Getting someone’s attention was all he desired. Risking the lives of all those aboard just to save his own seemed reprehensible. Walking a fine line proved more difficult than imagined. His head throbbed and the compartment tilted and turned nauseatingly. It was only minimally due to the gentle roll of the ship upon the waves.

He had resigned himself to waiting, propping himself up against the bulkhead nearest the hatch. The solid presence at his back was oddly comforting. To keep himself from sinking, he locked his knees. Never lock your knees at attention, his drill instructor’s voice reprimanded him from the past. Jack closed his eyes and ignored the wise advice. When the heavy door swung open and the engineer rushed past, regaining control over his rigid legs proved problematic. He pushed away from the wall, pivoted, and half fell through the opening.

The air that enveloped him was still hot, but cooler by far than the boiler room. Another hatch close by gave him an immediate goal. He inched along, his stomach acidic and his vision blurred. Grabbing hold, he pulled himself upright. The torturous pace continued. The stairwell at the end of the corridor was the light at the end of his tunnel. When yelled obscenities reached his ear from the engine compartment, his heart began to race. Being caught now meant death. No witnesses. No evidence. No chance. How he managed to reach his destination baffled him. He took hold of the handrail and put his foot on the first step.

One step.

Two.

Three.

Time and effort warped. His body continued to move as his brain steadily cooked. The light that shined down through the opening above was suddenly eclipsed.

“Jack!”

“Sir!”

He thought he heard a gasp. Stopping to glance up was a mistake. His spinning world slipped sideways as he lost his grip on the left side rail. Darkness began to encroach upon his sight, further disorienting him. He felt himself begin to plunge.

“No!”

Two sets of hands grabbed him simultaneously, halting his descent. The first set found only fabric and a precarious hold.

“Hugh!”

“I’ve got him!”

Fingers skittered down until they found his bicep and underarm. A moment later, he was dragged upward. His body scrapped across the offset steps before he was pulled free. Another set of hands joined the effort. Together, they turned him carefully and laid him gently on the deck.

The minutes that followed passed in a chaotic daze. Teetering between awareness and unconsciousness, he registered Phryne’s authoritative voice, issuing orders that were not rebuked. His body was jostled multiple times. Shoes were shucked from his feet and his socks immediately followed. Deft manipulation slipped buttons from their holes. His shirt was thrown open to the breeze. His head was lifted and something soft was slipped beneath. He winced involuntarily as a helping hand accidentally brushed his goose egg.

“Jack?”

Something cold and wet settled across his forehead. Another was draped across his throat. Water dripped onto his lips and reflexively he licked, his dehydrated body eager for more. He exhaled in relief but swallowed painfully.

“Stay awake for me.”

In his exhausted state, her words seem to float past him, just beyond his comprehension. Regardless of the intended message, the sound of her voice soothed and reassured him. His subconscious knew it was she who worked expertly above him, her touch deliberate yet caring.

A profound realization sunk in.

He was safe.

“Jack! Stay awake!”

What little strength remained washed away. Secure in the knowledge she would be there when he woke, he succumbed to the urge to set himself adrift.

Adrift but alive.


	79. Buoy

Jack swept back his overcoat and deposited his hands in his pockets. With a heavy heart, he watched her walk away, down the otherwise deserted sidewalk. She turned eventually and waved. He perked up, an encouraging smile rising to his face. When she resumed her journey, his expression of happiness receded.

“She looks like a lovely woman,” a familiar voice declared.

Jack wasn’t surprised to find Phryne inexplicably at his side.

“My aunt,” he offered absently.

She remained silent, sensing there was more.

“My Uncle Ted’s wife.”

Her gaze dropped slightly, signaling a silent understanding.

“Next time I’ll introduce you.”

(Prompt: Buoy. 100 words.)


	80. The First Lesson

“Adjust your grip. Like so,” Phryne instructed.

Jane paid attention as her teacher shifted the racquet to its correct position.

“Now you won’t drop every ball you hit into the net!”

“I didn’t realize it made a difference.”

“It makes ALL the difference,” she insisted. “Now give it another try.”

Jane bounced the ball, stepped out with her left foot, and swung. Her racquet connected solidly and the ball sailed over with plenty of clearance. “I did it!”

“Wonderful!” She handed her pupil the next ball. “Keep doing it until it feels like the most natural thing in the world.”

(100 words. I’ve just been contracted with our local Parks and Rec to teach tennis. SO… STOKED. A drabble in honor of the occasion.)


	81. Middle

The conversation occurred in the midst of a lengthy investigation.

“You’re certain he’s responsible?”

“As if I’d seen him do it myself!”

“Why? He seems harmless.”

Phryne sat down next to him and poured him a drink. “He may not remember me but I remember him,” she declared, not bothering to conceal her disgust.

“I find it difficult to believe _anyone_ could fail to remember you,” Jack commented in a matter of fact tone, accepting the tumbler.

Phryne smiled seductively but wasn’t easily distracted. “He tried to steal from my Aunt Prudence. You can image how well that went over.”

(OneWord prompt: Middle. 100 words.)


	82. Cry

“Cry.”

“Wolf.”

“Really, Jack.”

“You did say ‘the first thing that came to mind’. I’m merely following the rules. Would you prefer to pick another game?”

“No, I quite like this one. Thank you.”

“Shall we continue then?”

“Play.”

“Thing.”

“Work.”

“Horse.”

“I do believe I’m starting to see a pattern.”

“As you’ve stated before on several occasions, my thought processes are fairly predictable.”

“You make it sound like an insult, Jack.”

“None taken, I assure you.”

“Let’s see if we can break the mold. Dead bodies.”

“Paperwork.”

“Mystery.”

“Teamwork.”

“Case.”

“Load.”

“I fell into that one. Home.”

“Phryne Fisher.”

(OneWord prompt: Cry. A strictly dialogue challenge.)


	83. Hollow

“I’m afraid Miss Fisher never reached her scheduled refueling stop,” Mr. Butler reported gravely.

Jack Robinson’s world came to a grinding stop. The possible ramifications were too overwhelming to contemplate. For a split second, he was in two places at once. The familiar furnishings of his office surrounded him but a ruined car with a draped body rested before him. An all encompassing emptiness threatened to consume him.

“Sir?”

“Are you sure?” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded distraught.

“My contact was quite clear,” he confirmed.

“Was there any sort of wreckage?”

“None found.”

“Then there’s still hope.”

(OneWord prompt: Hollow. 100 words. Second in the “Searching For Miss Fisher” series.)


	84. Divvy Van

Overseeing the transport of a prisoner was a duty that normally fell outside of Jack Robinson’s immediate realm of responsibility. When Foyle was well enough to travel from the hospital back to the prison, Jack made it his business to be present. He inspected every lock and double checked every precaution. Then he rode in the back. As the van rocked gently on the road, so too did the occupants. Never did their eyes stray from each other.

“Please tell her she still holds a place of honor.”

The request didn’t warrant an answer. Nor was the message ever delivered.

(OneWord prompt: Van. 100 words.)


	85. Taking Over The World

The plans began to sprawl. Soon they took over half the table.

“If we entered here-” Jack suggested.

Phryne handed the candle stand to her left without looking back. Mr. Butler took it without comment and placed it on the sideboard.

“There’s a rotating guard,” she pointed out to her cohort in crime. “We’d have to time it just right. There’s no guarantee we’ll even have an opening.”

Jack unfolded the plans further and reached for another stack that contained layouts for the second floor. “We could scale-”

Phryne handed back two plates and a handful of silverware. Like the candle stand, they disappeared. “Don’t stop there,” she teased. “One floor deserves another.”

Jack spread out the third floor. “The window. Here,” he indicated.

The place mats were the last to go. “Perfect. Do you have the roof plan?”

(Prompt from writeroftheprompts.tumblr.com: “The table is taken over by plans for world domination. There’s no room for dinner.”)


	86. Parking

It struck her at odd times and in peculiar ways. A glance. A mundane moment. The occasional surprise.

That morning it was his tie.

She had always enjoyed assisting him. After Jack finished buttoning his shirt, he paused in front of the mirror. Perhaps he’d done it on purpose, to give her time to choose. A moment later, she turned up his collar and slipped the tie around his neck. She felt his gaze upon her face. He watched her intently as she worked the knot.

Their relationship had lasted for years.

Years.

She’d never expected to be so content.

(OneWord prompt: Parking. 100 words.)


	87. Apron

She insisted he recuperate at Wardlow but he quietly refused. He desired the muted confines of his own home, the comfort of his own bed, and a stillness that wasn’t obtainable in her busy household. He allowed her instead to accompany him into the darkness. She watched him sleep long hours and struggle silently through the remainder. Some nights, she slept beside him, soothing his pain by being present. He moved little and said even less.

On the fifth night as she served him a meager dinner, he reached tentatively for the hem of her apron. She paused in her retreat, daring not to hope. A spark of life could now be found in his once vacant stare. She held her breath, attempting to contain her relief.

He tugged gently, without strength, encouraging her to close the distance between them. He parted his legs and she stepped willingly between them, facing him.

She forced herself to breathe.

His hand fell from the apron and hooked the bottom of her dress. Slowly he ran his palm up the outside of her bare leg to the curve of her hip. Downcast eyes could not hide his longing.

A heartfelt smile rose to her lips. She rested her hands on his shoulders and leaned near enough to whisper into his ear. “If you don’t mind a cold dinner, I’d by happy to have dessert first.”

He responded by sliding his hand to her rear. Pulling her as close as his legs could accommodate, he tipped his head forward and buried his face at her stomach.

“Oh Jack,” she sighed in sympathy. Her hands slipped into his unruly hair, one coming to rest on his head and the other behind his neck.

He said nothing as she held him. Nor did she require it.

(OneWord prompt: Apron. 300 words.)


	88. Persistent

The propeller was horribly bent and an entire wing was missing. The trees had captured the plane at an awkward angle and it now hung suspended in the branches. Glancing upward, Jack spotted what he imagined could only be dried blood on the fuselage. There were no bodies to be found inside or nearby. He and Mr. Butler had thoroughly searched. Having completed a harrowing journey of their own, Jack was relieved to have not discovered her dead but was disheartened by her continued absence.

Mr. Butler stepped up beside him, his gaze also cast upward. “We’ll keep searching, sir.”

(OneWord: Persistent. 100 words. Third in the “Search For Miss Fisher” series.)


	89. Letters From A Young Bride

_Dear Miss Fisher,_

_I do so hope this letter finds you well and enjoying all the beautiful sights I’m sure England has to offer.  Having never traveled abroad, I can only draw on the descriptive passages I’ve read in books.  In my imagination there is certainly no shortage of castles and other historical places of interest.  I’m not brave enough to fly but someday I think I would like to visit perhaps by boat.  Hugh says I would get sea sick.  I think he fears the idea of such a long trip._

_The bungalow is starting to feel more like home.  The new drapes are lovely and the last of the furniture was delivered two days ago.  Bert and Cec have been so helpful.  I’m not sure we could have done it without them.  Hugh placed the portrait of his parents on the stand and next to it his toy cars!  Oh Miss!  I wish you’d been there to witness it!  He was so pleased with himself.  Tomorrow is his last day of leave.  We’re planning on having a picnic in the park.  It’s supposed to be a gorgeous day.  Mr. Butler said he’d bring us a basket to celebrate, complete with apple pie.  We no longer share a roof but he still spoils me._

_The Inspector has asked me to send his regards.  He called upon us yesterday to deliver two housewarming gifts.  It was very kind of him to visit with flowers for my table and a copy of Shakespeare for Hugh.  He informed us of his own intention to take leave but only after Hugh had returned and settled.  He didn’t say where or if he was traveling, only that he intended to be gone no more than a month.  I believe he misses you terribly.  As do the rest of us, Miss._

_Please come home soon.  And safely!  I remain,_

_Most Sincerely Yours.  ~ Dot_

(OneWord prompt: Centered.)


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